


(And I’m queer for math!)

by softly (alexenglish)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Coming Out, Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/softly
Summary: No no, we aren’t breaking up!  You didn’t let me finish.  I’m gay for YOU.





	(And I’m queer for math!)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katarama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/gifts), [dearmrsawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/gifts).



> thank you to Kat for the prompt, and it was Jamila's birthday back in February so obviously I'm late with Starbucks -- happy very ridiculously belated birthday, Jamila! <3
> 
>  
> 
> [a softer world project](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/asofterworld)

__

 

 _I’m asexual_.

“I’m asexual,” Harry announces.

It feels stupid to say it to himself in the mirror. He _knows_.

Technically, since it’s his reflection, the _mirror_ knows too. Telling the mirror isn’t going to get him anywhere except make him feel silly for deliberately talking to himself. It isn’t the mirror that needs to know.

 

 

“I’m asexual,” Harry says, plucking at his bottom lip with his finger. There’s a bit of soap on his hand from washing them a minute ago. The monkey part of his brain acts on reflex and licks it off completely. Harry makes a face at himself. The fuck.

“I know?” Gemma asks, in his ear.

It should be a statement. She _does_ know. She was the first _to_ know. Besides himself, of course.

“There was a lull,” Harry says patiently, wiping his finger off on the napkin closest to him. It’s moot point now, but it makes him feel better. He puts the napkin back on top of the textbook he’s been ignoring for the better part of a half hour. “I was practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“Saying it,” Harry replies, sighing.

“Who are you telling, then?” she asks softly. “Someone new?”

Harry makes a noise of affirmation in this throat, stomach knotting up just thinking about it. “I thought if I practiced, it might be easier.”

“It’s two words, Haz,” Gemma says. “How hard could it be?”

“Feel like I need to explain myself, like,” Harry shrugs even though she can’t see him, “Why.”

“It’s how you are,” she says. “That’s enough of ‘why.’”

Harry hums again, nudging his coffee mug over so he can run his finger over the coffee ring left on the table. He’s barely touched his cup. He’s a bit tore up over this.

Harry frowns, disliking that. He knows himself. He _has_ known himself very well for a very long time -- well, not _so_ long considering he just entered his twenties. It’s something he prides himself in. Introspection. Emotional maturity. Whatever. Knowing all the things he’s good at, and all the things he’s not so good at. Knowing what he can change about himself, and what he can’t -- what he has to accept.

He accepted this about himself a while ago.

Other people accepting it is what messes him up.

 

 

“I’m asexual,” Harry tells the ceiling.

“Don’t say it in that tone,” Zayn tells him. A wadded up piece of paper enters Harry’s field of vision. He flails, knocking it away.

“What _tone_?” Harry asks, sitting up. His head spins for a moment, but Zayn comes into view soon enough, giving Harry an unimpressed look from their shared desk in front of the window. It’s a lovely day outside.

“Like you don’t even want to say it, babes,” Zayn says, shrugging. They knock their pencil against their notebook. There’s a bunch of math equations in a neat little row. Which means they just started their homework; the columns get messier the longer they’re at it. “You sound like you’d rather commit seppuku than talk about it.”

“Distasteful,” Harry says. About the reference and the tone. “I wouldn’t say it like _that_. I’ve been doing this all day, it’s bound to sound boring.”

“Stop, then. I can hear you overthinking it. Your thoughts are so loud and stressed out, they’re interrupting my studying.”

“They’re not _loud_ ,” Harry lies, so Zayn doesn’t know they’re right. “They’re regular thoughts that I’m thinking. Barely stressed.”

“Incredibly stressed,” Zayn replies. “Just chill. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. You have t’ be ready for this shit.”

“Yeah.” Harry knows.

 

 

“Hey so,” Louis throws himself in Harry’s general direction. There’s nowhere for Harry to go, wedged into the far corner of the couch, so he gets a lap full of Louis. Liam follows behind, kicking the dorm door shut and knocking knuckles with Zayn in greeting.

“Hey _so_ ,” Louis repeats, huffing out a laugh as Harry tries to shove him off. He doesn’t budge. What a dickhead. “I heard you’re having an identity crisis.”

Harry scowls, smacking Louis’ shoulder hard enough to make him whine a bit. “It’s not a _crisis_ ,” Harry says. “It’s far from a crisis. I’ve never had a crisis about my sexuality.”

Other people have crises about Harry’s sexuality. He doesn’t really get why that’s the case, since it has very minimal to do with them, but it’s happened before and he’s sure it’ll happen again. He just doesn’t want it to happen in this case.

“But you _are_ worried,” Louis says pointedly. “I think that falls into the category of a crisis. A mild crisis, maybe, but a crisis all the same.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry says, pushing Louis off his lap forcefully. Louis isn’t expecting it, so he drops off Harry with a yelp, tumbling over onto the cushions. He’s lucky Harry didn’t shove him onto the floor, honestly.

“You didn’t have any issue with us,” Liam says gently. A very understanding, sweet smile appears on his face.

“Yeah, well none of you are into me,” Harry says. “That is the factor that changes things. Not wanting someone to stick their hand in my pants doesn’t affect people who aren’t going to stick their hand in in my pants.”

“I was down to stick my hand in your pants,” Zayn says, raising their hand. Harry stares at them. “You were cool telling me.”

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Harry says vehemently. “You didn’t say anything.”

“And now you’re dating someone,” Louis cackles. It only lasts a second though, and then he’s back to looking serious. “Someone who won’t care.”

“And if he does, he isn’t worth it,” Liam adds.

“And if he does, I _won’t_ stick my hand down your pants,” Zayn tacks on. “But like, romantically.”

“You’re all idiots,” Harry mourns.

 

 

Kissing is nice.

It’s a nice feeling. It’s _sweet_. It’s intimate.

Harry really loves intimacy. He’s all about intimacy. He likes knowing all the bits and pieces of people. He likes being close to people in ways others are not. He likes being able to touch, and cuddle, and _kiss_.

But sometimes it feels like there’s pressure. Like there’s always expectations when it comes to kissing. Most people don’t usually just kiss for the sensation of kissing; that lovely, lazy intimacy it brings. Most kisses are the trail that leads to the treasure chest of sex.

The problem is that with Harry, there is no treasure chest of sex. Some people don’t like going on a treasure hunt if there’s no treasure chest -- no chance of _plunder_.

Plundering the _booty_ , that is.

“I’m asexual,” Harry says. Like, _duh_.

No plundering the booty.

 

 

Harry knows he’s being awkward. He’s got a lapful of wiggly, horny boyfriend who’s kissing his face off and he’s stressed out so badly, he’s barely kissing back.

Niall knows he’s being awkward, because he keeps wiggling, like he’s trying to coax Harry’s cooperation out of him. It’s cute. It’s really cute. Harry really likes Niall.

Which is why he sighs and stops kissing Niall, hands steadying his hips.

“Uhm,” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

He’s breathing hard, slim chest rising and falling. There’s a delicious pink flush to his cheeks that Harry, ridiculously, wants to bite. His hair is messy from Harry’s fingers tugging at it -- something that gets the loveliest noises out of Niall.

This is the kind of thing Harry has appreciation for. He’s so into this squirmy, turned on version of Niall it’s absolutely dizzying, but it’s _different_. It’s not… It just _isn’t_ \--

“Are you okay?” Niall asks, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Now Harry is making him anxious. Good job, Harry.

“I’m okay,” Harry says brightly. It’s the truth. He’s not _not_ okay. He really is fine. This isn’t a massive issue, it’s just something he inflates in his head until he feels like he’s going to burst with it. Which isn’t great, but it’s okay.

“You seem… off,” Niall says, giving Harry a lopsided smile.

Harry hums, stalling. Well, now or never.

“I guess I’m --” Harry shrugs, ignoring the way his stomach knots up. “Weird. I’m being weird.”

“You are,” Niall agrees readily. He climbs off Harry’s lap and sits next to him on the bed, leaning up against the wall. It’s difficult not to feel guilty about the way he’s still flushed and half hard.

“I have a reason for that,” Harry says. This isn’t helping, he knows it, but he can’t stop meandering around the point.

“Okay,” Niall says slowly.

Harry is looking at his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Niall’s face, but he can hear the tension in his voice. He can see the way Niall’s fingers twist into the fabric of his joggers.

“Is it a bad reason?” Niall asks, after Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“No,” Harry says. Then, “I don’t think so.”

“Haz.” Niall knocks their knees together softly. “Please just… Out with it.”

“Right.” Harry takes a deep breath and shifts so that he’s facing Niall. Look at Niall’s face is worse than he thought it would be. Niall just looks lost and apprehensive, blue eyes wide as he stares at Harry.

Harry clears his throat and does his best to maintain eye contact. This is important.

“I’m asexual,” he says, steadily.

It’s good to say it. It always is. It feels like a bit of him uncoils whenever he tells someone new. Like there’s one less thing to hold close to his chest. That’s how he is with anything about him, but this always feels like a different kind of relief.

Niall frowns. “Okay?”

“Okay?” Harry echoes as Niall looks away. A brighter flush blooms on Niall’s cheeks. Harry didn’t know Niall could get so red.

“Did you not… Do you not want to do this, then?” Niall asks, gesturing between the two of them with a self-deprecating laugh. “Are you not really into us like, at all?”

“Us?” Harry asks, trying not to sound too indignant. All Niall does is nod in response. “I definitely still want to do this. I’m dead into you.”

“Oh.” Niall brightens considerably, relaxing into the wall with a smile. That makes Harry smile. Some more of the tension eases out of him.

“I wanted you to know, though,” Harry says. “In case it makes a difference.”

“I don’t think it does,” Niall says, shaking his head. Then, more sure, “It doesn’t.”

“Oh good,” Harry says.

“Can we kiss still?” Niall asks, looking up at Harry from under his lashes. Sweet and flirty, like always. Like Harry didn’t just spend a week angsting over this whole scenario, worried about the worst possible outcome.

He should have known it was going to be alright. It’s _Niall_.

“Of course,” Harry says, reaching for him, drawing him in to press a kiss to his mouth -- soft and lovely, without expectation.

 _I’m asexual_ , Harry thinks. And it doesn’t make a difference at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/172796915512/and-im-queer-for-math-niallharry-18k)


End file.
